Plowshares into swords…

I tilt toward the right side of blue politics. Ellen and Reid are on their own in determining their spots on the political spectrum.

——————

June 10, 2013

Ellen/Reid: It’s only June 10 and already it feels as if the dog days of summer are in place. It was moist and very warm this morning at 5:15 when I went out to get the newspaper. Maybe that’s just the wages you pay for living in this part of the country. I suppose it is. I walked 18 at a local muny yesterday in the heat of the afternoon and was soaking wet by the time my ball reached the green after five errant shots. But plenty of water was consumed and there was enough cloud cover to stop me from baking like a pork butt on the spit. Got through it just fine but man, was it humid.

My friend John the Presbyterian minister is joining a bunch of folks from Caldwell today to head for protests at the state capitol in Raleigh. If John gets riled up, then the issues are worth getting riled up over. The legislature is just making it tough for the little guy and middle income folks in North Carolina. Restricted voting rights, a highly favorable income tax break for the upper incomes plus a bevy of new taxes on smaller services such as groceries and haircuts that will effectively have the lower classes pay more. These Monday protests have been going on for a while and a fair number of people have been arrested (including an 80 year old woman who was handcuffed to her wheelchair, like she was going anywhere) even though things have been purposely peaceful. As you would expect, the GOP legislators have no intention of meeting with anyone other than themselves or their cronies. Our state has moved from just being red to a deep shade of crimson red. How anyone in the middle class votes Republican escapes me. It must be all about guns and whatnot. Republican zealots are beating their plowshares into swords. All the better to stick it to the little guy.

Reid, I’m excited about the prospect of Chicago. By the time you get this we should know for sure. I’ve kind of dawdled in getting my ticket but it will be in hand soon enough.

We rode the Harley on Saturday for a long-ish trek and stumbled upon a big biker event in a place called Lincolnton. It should be about a 60 minute ride that turned into two hours as we moseyed our way along with the intent of getting to Greenville, SC but Lincolnton was on the route. We spent a few hours at the event and didn’t have second thoughts about going any further. Biker rallies tend to pretty much be all the same but this one had a lot of variety. The people watching is worth the price of admission. The high point may have been the barbeque which was some of the best I’ve had since being down in these parts. Very tasty.

It’s raining hard and straight down as we speak – enough, already – but at least it didn’t pour over the weekend while we were outside. The weekend came and went way too fast but the time from Monday to Friday will feel like an eternity. They say ‘time waits for no one’ but I sure wish it would drag its feet on Friday-Saturday-Sunday sometime.

Watching Game of Thrones…and retrieving plastic

April 1, 2013

Ellen/Reid: My friend Tom is under the surgeon’s knife this morning with triple bypass. The doctor makes it all seem so simple although he’s not the one lying on the table. But the doc says Tom will be as good as new so the Bridger excursion will be on next year. Reid, you should go with us.

I do have my tickets in hand for Emma’s birthday extravaganza. No thought has been given to lodging but I can take care of myself. I will get a rental car, too. I will take part of Friday to head down to Owatonna to play golf with Steve Allen and a couple of other friends who will meander up from Des Moines. Reid, consider this an appeal about what dates work for you for us

Reid (right) and his dad in ’10 after a visit to his ailing grandfather. Time to see the boy’s new digs in Chicago.

to visit you and Liz in Chicago.

I’m looking down upon the quiet little stream this morning from my third floor window and it’s sad to see a mess

…a deer had been hit…

No letter was sent to the kids last week.  This letter appeared about this time in their mailboxes in December, 2006.

December 18, 2006

‘Cakes/Reid: Well, it happened again. I know most shopping carts look alike but yeesh, for the second time in nearly as many trips, someone took off with my loaded cart at the local Harris Teeter grocery store where I shop.  My back wasn’t turned for a moment to price the yogurt and cheese, and off it goes.  I can’t figure out what someone wants from a cart loaded to the gills with cereal and apples and lettuce, but for crying out loud don’t you recognize that the stuff wasn’t yours?  I had to get another cart and start all over. 

The S.S. Minnow…

December 17, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Reid, I don’t know as if you’ll have a chance to receive this let alone read it before you fly out for Charlotte, but we’ll keep the string intact.

By now it is hoped you will have figured out where

We did fish and Reid did catch fish. Not as many as the better times of year, but enough.

to take Tim and Liz, respectively, for the nice dinners.  Ellen, if there’s anything left over you might buy Emma some sort of designer baby food.  Not that there is anything wrong with strained-diluted-tasteless peas and such, but maybe there is something else on the market at Whole (“Paycheck”) Foods.  I’m not up to speed these days on baby food.  Reid, you can spring for a little pricier

A nice October Saturday in Greenville, SC…

October 15, 2012

Ellen/Reid: I was golfing yesterday with a friend who said this nice weather “is why we live down here,” and he was right.  It was just picture-perfect on Sunday, the golf notwithstanding.  When the skies are blue and the temperatures are mild, it really is a nice place to call home.

The weather was a little colder on Saturday morning when we set off on the Harley to ‘Fall for Greenville’, a street festival in Greenville, SC that the locals said would draw a few hundred thousand over three days.  I don’t care much for South Carolina’s politics, but Greenville and the terrain to get there sure is nice.

Felicia on the main drag in downtown Greenville, SC. during the ‘Fall for Greenville’ festival. South Carolina politics are a turn off for me, but Greenville is a good place to spend a nice Saturday in October. Great ride on S.C. Rte. 11 that skirts the mountains.

Our roundabout route on S.C. Rte. 11 was likely 150 miles to get there.  We rode through some cotton fields and peach orchards and got very close to the mountains, enough to see the leaves begin to turn.  It was chilly even in our leathers but when the sun broke through it was a joy to be on the bike.  The Heritage passed the 48,000 mile mark during the trip.  The festival itself is mostly a food-oriented event and we strolled up and down, mostly people watching, then hit a wine bar for a nice glass of cab and an appetizer.  Then it was on the road again for the 100 miles back to Charlotte.  We’ll return next year, if nothing more than to ride through the countryside.  Good thing we went when we did; the weather is rumbling and raining this morning.

Really starting to get jacked up about the trip to St. Paul for Thanksgiving, and for you, Reid, to get down here for what will be a long Christmas weekend.  I still haven’t planned out what and where we will go, but a good guess is we will probably head toward the ocean somewhere.  Oak Island is the likely landing spot.  There’s a seedy hotel right on the beach next to a fishing pier which will serve us just fine.  We ought to see what’s biting during that weekend, don’t you think?  I will make arrangements.  Who cares what we catch, as long as we catch something.  It would be great to bring home to CLT and Chicago a few filets of edible fish.

The cleaners are here this morning tending to the details I don’t tend to.  They do a nice job, a couple of Hispanic women who really work hard at it.  Betsy gave me their names.  Their monthly stop here is the best $100 I spend.  Not that I don’t keep up, but it’s nice to have their finishing touches, if you know what I mean.  Ellen, I still need to hear how the episode with your cleaners came out.  Bookkeeping is apparently not their thing.  Mine, either.

Watched the hairy video the guy free fall from 128,000 feet and break the sound barrier en route.  He must have noogies the size of basketballs.  That is one hell of a feat.  To get into a balloon let alone jump out of one at a height where you see the curvature of earth is absolutely amazing.  That wouldn’t be for me.

All the pork, sausage, steaks and other dietary stuff that should go off our diet was bagged up this past Sunday and toted over to Caldwell to go into the freezer for the Sunday breakfasts the church prepares for 50 or so homeless women who live in one of the church’s buildings.  It was a win-win for both sides.  It felt good to follow through on the threat to make a culinary change.

I find all the political news depressing.  Not much civility anymore in any of the races.  A woman at Caldwell, Jennifer Roberts, is running for Congress and I fear she’s going to get creamed.  She is a good person, honest and straightforward with the best interests of the people at heart.  The Observer endorsed her, but her opponent is kind of a Tea Party guy whose only mantra is business, anti-environment, etc.  I worry about guys like that who don’t care a hoot about the 47% or for the environment.  If we elect him, we will get what we deserve which won’t be much.

Back to normal…

This was a weekend for varying members of the clan to hit the skies.

Reid landed Friday in Chicago after his extended work trip to London.  He’s already back in the swing of things.

Emma had her parents accompany her to Michigan and back.

Emma easily claims the Gold Medal for her knack of sleeping anywhere and everywhere – including a comfy spot on her dad’s lap on the trip home from Michigan.

She displayed the inherited trait of being able to sack out on a noisy plane and wake just in time to announce her presence to other passengers within 2 -3 rows of her.

Moreover, now that Reid is back stateside, we will resume the practice of tossing his weekly letter into the mail.

This brings our world back to normal.

Here is last week’s letter to the kids.

——————

August 6, 2012

Ellen/Reid: The ribs are feeling better day by day although the couch remains the most comfortable place to sleep.  I still feel like a doofus for allowing the slips to happen at all.  Tom thinks a change from heavy boots to more of a running/cross training shoe would help.  Could be.  All in all it could’ve been much worse.  We did see one rescue helicopter venture into the high country, and the destination appeared to be in the direction of a group of 20-some kids we learned about from their adult leaders.  We also read in the Jackson Hole paper about a woman from New York who suffered a compound fracture of the femur – ouch, ouch, ouch – near Lake Lozier (which we sped by save but a few minutes of fishing time) just before we went up top, although there was no real news about how they got her out.  An online search found nothing.  Now that would be real, excruciating pain.  My aches would have been like so many insect bites by comparison.  My golf has taken a hit while the ribs mend but I haven’t missed it a whole lot.  There’s plenty of time to get back in the swing of things down here, like 12 months a year.

So it is back to the daily grind.  That’s okay, I like what I do.  My mid-year review was last week and it was good.  It prodded me again to think about when to pull the plug, and if they will have me until I’m 65, that would be close enough to call it a ‘career’ – if such things still exist.  If you’re counting, that’s about two and a half more years of toil.  Of course, you’re only as good as your most recent week so even the best laid plans can go awry.  But that seems relatively feasible.

Sorry to bother you both with my back-and-forth nonsense about the iPad and MacBook Air.  No sooner had I signed the iPad sales slip at Target when a serious case of buyer’s remorse set in.  The Air seems a relatively good choice.  I leaned on Bob F., too, for his advice, and to sum up he said why get an iPad when the hand-held iPhone is so closely akin to it.  I like the way the Air handles and feels, and the operating system is probably a little more stabile.  Yet to be bought are the equivalents to MS Word.  I’ve got to keep the clunky Acer around for the church newsletter but that is probably the highest and best use for that contraption.  Ellen, the Air comes with Facetime, so keep little Emma within arm’s reach in case Gramps calls.

Reid, you have travel in your veins.  Barcelona?  How the heck does one get from London to Barcelona in the face of all that Olympic zaniness?  Good for you.  I’m envious that you just pull up stakes and go.  It takes some nards to do that when you’re by your lonesome.  What is the total count of nations you’ve visited?  11 by my rough tally, and that may be off a few.  Hey, when you are back stateside, look at the first opportunity to A) get your carcass down to Charlotte or, B) tell me when we should get up to Chicago so you can meet Felicia and vice versa.

Keep the Emma videos flowing to the Southeast, Ellen.  She looked so unhappy, but cute, on the way back from Cass Lake.  She’s a good sport to be in her car seat all the time, especially when she wants to stretch her legs and kick out the jams.  One thing about that sort of trip; you know you’re not childless anymore.  It probably seems as if you had to pack enough gear for a round-the-world-cruise.  Get used to it.

The Olympics have taken up some of the evening tube time although by confession, it seems pretty formulaic; gymnastics, swimming, basketball and the track events.  It gets pretty boring sometimes.  I’m a shoo-in for gold if/when it comes to lazing around on the couch while the rest of me mends.   Too bad I don’t get to go to London to collect my medal.

The little matter of a junket to Tybee Island…

Later today, Reid hops a plane out of Chicago to his temporary work assignment in London.  His first day of work is Wednesday.  As any of us would, he’s looking forward to it, although I’m not sure if he’s looking more at the work or at London.  Probably both.

If the summer schedule plays out as it is currently scripted, the chance of me getting over there to visit this new expat are slim and none.  It’s just not in the cards.  Reid is over there for roughly two months and if his stint stretched into October or November, then it might be a different matter.  But it’s not.  I’m already committed to the Twin Cities to check up on Emma and her domain plus the Bridger Wilderness is set in stone, too.

The morning after we rode across the isthmus from Tybee Island to Savannah, we stopped along the Savannah River long enough to stretch our legs. Felicia deserved a few hours away from her workday grind. Moments after this shot was taken, we saddled up again. This time, up to Hilton Head on back roads.

Then there was the little matter of a junket for Felicia and me to Tybee Island, Georgia this past weekend.  She has worked long, tedious hours and she deserved a 27 hour getaway to this tiny little stretch of sand that is a great spot.  As she tells it, it has what Myrtle Beach and some of the over-commercialized ocean front tourist traps do not: a coziness that comes with a community scarcely a mile or two long (at the most), some beach bars that serve cold drinks, and two greasy spoon breakfast nooks worth the trip alone.  The price of admission to any of the spots we happened upon were flip flops and shorts.  We rode the Harley this time, and no Chamber of Commerce could have ordered any better weather.  We took the back road from Savannah to Hilton Head where a couple of cold beers washed away any road dust and made our lunch along the ocean taste a little better.

Ellen sent this photo with a one word caption: Chillin’. Already Emma is changing day by day. I see her next on July 13.

For those expecting one more photo of Emma, here is the little wonder with one of her first discernable smiles.  Her mom sent this at precisely the right time as her gramps slogged through a Friday work day worth forgetting.

Here is last week’s letter.  The letter to be written today will be mailed to Ellen and emailed to Reid in London (as his will be for the next 7 or 8 weeks).

——————-

June 11, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Well, one would suppose this will be the last letter on paper you’ll receive for a while, Reid.  While you’re ‘over there’ I’ll send the notes by email attachment.  It will sort of be like when you went to Finland.  I’m looking into a short visit while you’re there, but there may be some things working against it.  Certainly the Olympics and all that revolves around it (higher prices, price gouging, etc., and that includes airline tickets) but it would sure be great fun to figure out how to make a four or five day visit work.  My passport is still valid for another year.  But never say never because this would be a once-in-a-lifetime situation to get over there to see you.  It’s all so exciting.  There will be so much ado about the Olympics, Wimbledon, the royal family, et al.  The ‘biometric appointment’ took me a little off guard but that’s just the way security is these days.  Just make sure you send us a lot of photos.  It might be fun to keep a short term journal of your adventure.

And Ellen, the picture of you and Emma at Home Depot is just hilarious.  A family shopping trip to a hardware store.  I laughed out loud at those little appendages dangling outside her kiddie harness or whatever it is you call it.  It’s too early for her to make decisions about the décor of her room but that time will come.  I have sprinkled her new photos around the townhome and will send a framed one to you that appears to be a duplicate.  We can’t wait to get up there on the 13^th of July.  We plan to stay at a B&B down on Grand.  Felicia correctly advises that it would be good for us to stay out of your hair.  One less stressor for you guys to deal with.

We head down to Tybee Island, Georgia on Friday for one night at a cheap hotel plus a few nice walks on the beach.  We’ll take the bike and cruise on down because it’s not too bad a jaunt.  Tybee Island is a smallish place just outside of Savannah and it doesn’t have the size and noise and distractions of a Myrtle Beach or some of the other island hot spots.  The little burg features one of the all time great greasy spoon breakfast spots where, if you’re not wearing flip flops, you’re out of place and conspicuously out of style.  You can tell Tim that it appears to be a redfish paradise, what with all the little fingerling inlets and such that push way inland.  I’d love to cast a line but there just won’t be enough time for it.  Felicia has to be back on Sunday so she can go to Shelby for Father’s Day.  Tybee is kind of a fall-back position because I’m still trying to get the time share thing figured out.  I have totally squandered that resource.  Totally wasted it.

Betsy got a new job at the bank.  Her other position might have been drawing to a close but she has landed on her feet and in a better spot.  She’ll start to work from home which will be a new experience for her.  I’ve assured her she will love it.

The weather is beginning to warm up here and before you know it we’ll be up to our necks in heat and sweat.  But the spring has been great here and there are no real complaints.  The weather may warm up but my golf game remains cold.  I’ve completely lost touch with the sport.  It would be the one thing I’d discourage Emma from taking up.  But there is some signs of success around here.  Finally, after years of trying without success, there are some eating sized tomatoes forming on the vine just outside the front porch.  And I’ve cleaned out the garage of rickety old shelving and other what-not so that looks better at long last.  There is plenty more to do around here.

Reid, the parting words are: stay in touch.  Let us know how your world turns in London and it would be wonderful to see photos of where you live, where you work and where you visit.  This is a great opportunity for you.  Don’t be surprised if your old man knocks on the door looking for a place to sleep, even if it’s the floor.  Have fun over there, kid.

Back to the old ways…

You were expecting a photo of Emma at the top of the page?  You’ll need to scroll down a bit.

Yes, she is a little sweetie (aren’t all grandchildren?).  That’s why there are no Grandchild USA contests (or at least I’m not aware of any).  No winner would ever be chosen because all the votes would be cast along family lines.

Still, Emma was the centerpiece of last week’s letter to new mom Ellen and her brother Reid. But you will note that the letter a couple of weeks ago truly wasn’t “official” since it was emailed as an attachment due to a printer ink malfunction.  But what the kids received over the weekend had a stamp on the envelope, therefore marking a return to official letter status.  I have gone back to the old ways, thanks to a new black ink cartridge.

Emma: the apple of her gramps’ eye.

As for the photo of Emma, here you go.

Here, too, is the paper letter.  Just say ‘no’ to email attachments.

—————–

May 14, 2012

Ellen/Reid: It’s just hard to believe that Emma is almost two weeks old.  It still is all a bit surreal.  She’s just a little peanut, and already her looks seem to be changing.  I can’t wait to see her again because that’s when her growth will really be apparent.  It looks as if the next trip will be the second weekend in July.  We would come on a Friday and leave on Sunday.  I assume Emma will get her first view of the lake July 6-7-8 but you tell me what works best for us to visit.  Felicia’s excited to see her.  It is still amazing that your upstairs renovation project was completed virtually the same day Emma was born.  Talk about fortuitous timing.  Wow.  You couldn’t have scripted it better.  It’s good I lost my April 24 bet.  What a mess that would’ve been.

I’m now paying attention to baby coupons in the Sunday paper so those will be tucked into the envelopes.  Everything about babies is really an industry into itself.  Most of the stuff they advertise in the back pages of the coupon section seems feasible enough but I don’t quite understand why people would buy porcelain statuary of babies and other baby knick-knacks.  Sounds like just another garage sale item to me.  You will not receive anything of the sort from Emma’s grandpa.  Next time I head to the store I’ll pay a little more attention to the baby aisle.  Before you know it, she’ll be walking and talking and all of that.  Just as we marveled at how quickly you two nuts grew, the same will be for your perception of her.  It all just happens in a blur.  Betsy thinks the photos of Emma are adorable and she’s been asking for regular updates so keep any information coming this way.  Your timing is also good, Ellen, in that you’ll be able to stay at home during the normal summer break for teachers.

It’s been raining outside this morning which makes for a good enough day to sit in the office.  Wish it would’ve rained this weekend so I could’ve skipped golf altogether.  I’m so tired of playing poorly.  I couldn’t think my way out of a paper bag on the course if my life depended on it.  It is just so humbling.  Reid, how did your little golf gig come about?  Don’t people camp overnight at the public courses in Chicago just so they can snag a tee time?  Good for you to get out and play.  If some kid came along and offered me $5 for my sticks, I might be tempted.  Felicia is working a lot of overtime, including the weekends, and that puts a crimp into any spontaneous plans to ride or get out of town.

The lettuce pot out front continues to pump out a bumper crop.  That’s been a good dietary diversion.  I’m sorry to report that the Swallowtail butterfly caterpillar that was munching on the sprigs of parsley apparently fell prey to some sort of predator because it was gone within a day or two of me thinking it would continue to grow and eat its way into a pupa or whatever they wrap themselves in before emerging and flitting away.  My little bluebirds, sadly, are gone, too.  When I got home from Minnesota I thought they would have fledged so I went out back to check out the nest.  But there they were, dead.  Not sure what happened.  Stories on the web show parasites are a fairly common cause of death in baby birds.  The parent bluebirds had worked so diligently to keep the little ones fed.  They are nowhere to be seen.  I’ve since cleaned out the nest and let it dry out.  Hopefully some other bird species will find it a good nesting site.   Must be that time of year for baby animals.  Saw a small copperhead the other evening, but it was dead, too, and for no apparent reason.  Must be the way of things.

Okay, over and out for this morning.  Keep sending photos of Emma, and Reid, let me know about your iPad situation.  Glad you are finding uses for yours, Ellen.  Let’s use that live video thingie at some point soon.  Ciao.

We have something worth caring for…

Reid called Sunday morning after he crossed the finish line of an 8K run in Chicago.  For the record, I cannot recall a call from him on a weekend day before noon.  The kid was pumped.

His 8 minute per mile pace ain’t half bad.  Jeez, I didn’t even know the kid was running.  Then again, 26-year-olds can climb out of bed and hit the bricks for 5 miles without even thinking about it let alone train for the distance.  I’ll laud him in today’s letter which will be posted next week.

I say all this because it’s good that he and his sister are far from couch potatoes.  They get out and do things (i.e. Reid to India/backpacking; it’s a piece of cake for Ellento assume the ‘Down Dog’ position and whatever other tortuous yoga contortions are called).

I am now the avowed foe of morons who would choose to defile the path of my daily walk.

On the other hand, their dad hauls his carcass off the couch for a daily constitutional of 2.5 miles around the block.  As of late, however, it has made me increasingly disheartened to see the communal path shared by Felicia and me and others treated as the personal dumping ground of who knows how many slobs.  So, because I have two hands and prefer my walk to be a little tidier,  I’m bending and stooping to pick up (and recycle) trash along the way.   Plastic in any form draws particular ire.  I allude to it below; it will probably make the kids think I’m loonier than birther zealots.  Okay, maybe not.

The larger point for Ellen and Reid is that we have something worth caring for.  That Diet Coke bottles, Bud Lite cans, 5 Hour Energy and Gatorade G2 bottles and Burger King or McDonald’s wrappers – plus other vile pieces of unimaginable trash – can be discarded without a second thought makes some dolt’s problem my problem.  I’m willing to stoop and bend to keep my little patch of turf clean.

————

March 19, 2012

Ellen/Reid: Ellen, you look marv in your Facebook photos.  You really do.  It is just amazing how you’ve managed to care for yourself and your baby.  The clock is ticking, too; it won’t be that much longer now.  Not that you have to share potential names with me, but you have some in the hopper, don’t you?  At least it’s not like you’re gonna have twins where you could have a rhyming scheme like Dora and Flora, or something like that.  One at a time sounds about right.

One of my best friends at the bank appears to have run out of all his options to find something inside, even at a lower level.  All the talk and go-get-‘em assurances about “Oh, you’ll find something” have fallen through.  It just drives me crazy but him more so.  He’s nearing panic-mode.  I don’t know what a guy of his standing and age in life will do.  There really aren’t any parallels to my situation because things were wholly different, but all I can do for Mike is hope that something pops at the last minute.  Internal alliances and allegiances aren’t what they used to be.  No one has his back, and that is distressing to me.  His reviews are good; he just got caught in the cuts.  That’s about all there is to it.  That’s the way business is these days for better or worse, and from my view it’s decidedly worse.

Felicia had a bit of a scare yesterday.  Because I head to church an hour early to interview folks and do profiles on people for the church newsletter, she typically hangs back at the house and has more coffee, finishes the paper then heads over for a just-on-time arrival.  But she never showed and I assumed she was beat from working long hours on Saturday and wanted a day off.  But when I got to my car, there were texts from her that she was having heart flutters or it was skipping a beat.  A policeman saw her in distress on the side of the road, and he called 911.  She was taken to the ER by ambulance.  So I raced over there right away, and they had her on a gurney out in the hallway since no rooms were open.  We were there about 3 hours as they tested and x-rayed her.  She has what’s called PVCs, which essentially is an untreatable fluttering of the heart.  I’m not sure what will be done about it right now, but it doesn’t appear to be life-threatening.  It was a scary episode for sure.  She feels better now but I’ll know more when she comes over for our evening walk.

I’m trying to herd the cats for the Bridger Wilderness.  I think – think – we’ll end up with about 5 or 6.  Obviously Ellen, you guys are out for the foreseeable future, but Reid, if you haven’t used up all your time, you and Liz are welcome to come out West.  That would be a gas.  July 23-27.  Its country you know pretty well.

My weight continues to drop.  It’s down about 10 lbs. from a month or so ago.  I’ve adhered to the tenets of the diet for the most part but I fudge by having cereal in the morning.  I feel pretty good and my belts are cinching a little tighter these days.  Some carbs in the morning, no carbs the rest of the day.  We’ll see if it is sustainable.  Vegas wouldn’t touch those odds.

I have an idea for a new blog which will, I am certain, assure the two of you that your old man is battier than ever.  I’m socking away content for the next month or thereabouts so when it does go viral, it will hit the ground with some pages.  The only thing I can tell you is it will be environmentally related but there will be no shortage of goofiness.  If you want to turn your heads and deny me, I’ll understand.  But it keeps the creative juices flowing and that’s not all bad.

Okay, by for now.  I’ve got some leftover flank steak that we’ll use to make salads of for dinner.  My diet has included a lot of lettuce, and if any more is consumed, there is a good chance I’ll turn into a bunny rabbit.  You knew my high school mascot was a bunny, didn’t you?

A lesson in the amateur naturalist world…

A boreal chickadee is a new, but now regular visitor, to the feeder just outside my kitchen window.

Birds have nothing to do with today’s post.

Our feathered friends were not mentioned or alluded to in last week’s letter nor any letter in recent months.  I’d have to search (highly unlikely this morning) to find the last time a cardinal, common flicker or rufous-sided towhee or any other species – other than the Thanksgiving turkey – made a cameo appearance on any of the single pages.

Instead, last week’s letter lauds Reid for his pending trip to India and is hopeful for Ellen‘s current trip to Baja, Mexico, and other normalcies.

But I have a relationship of long-standing with birds.  The actual genesis of it rests with Ellen and Reid’s grandfathers, both of whom fed birds.   My dad, for most of the second half of his life, put out a daily spread year-round and enjoyed their visual company.  Heaven forbid a marauding squirrel would raid his feeders.  If dad’s aim was true (which it frequently wasn’t) the tailed robber would feel the sting of his aging BB gun.  Not powerful enough to inflict lasting damage (not what dad intended), but enough to teach a lesson.  Until the next raid.

My father never really shared with my brother or me how he came to adopt these friends or why he so warmed to keeping his feeders stocked.  As with many things you notice with your parents, you pick up the non-verbal lesson here and there.  One of the things my dad evidenced to me – and once I stopped shooting at game birds – is that there is something to tending to birds.  He was a back yard naturalist, he with his garden and his birds.

So now I have picked up on his practice.  And the kids know it.  They read short discussions about birds often enough.  Maybe they’ll pick up the unspoken lesson, too.  As I think about it, dumping a jar of black sunflower seed into the trough is one more lesson in their dad’s amateur naturalist world.  They need to see there is value to strap on a backpack, recycle plastic instead of pitching it, plant a garden and walk the golf course.  Just as their grandfather taught me.

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January 9, 2012

Ellen/Reid: It is highly doubtful, Ellen, that this letter will make it to you before you and Tim depart for Baja.  In some ways it’s too bad that your Minnesota winter hasn’t totally sucked (i.e. unbearable cold and mountains of snow) before you shove off.  That way you could say you’ve left the worst of it behind for at least a few days of warmth and fun.  Still, it will be a good respite to get away and finally use sunscreen with plenty of SPF protection.  Both of you yahoos have nice trips coming up while your poor old man languishes in North Carolina, home to muddy, dormant Bermuda fairways and…  Wait, I can’t think of anything else bad (other than our politics).

Reid, I was wondering about immunizations before you shove off for India.  What’s the scene there?  What do you need to have, and what meds do you need to take with you in the event the local water or some strange food takes you down?  You should call up episodes of ‘Bizarre Foods’ with Andrew Zimmern that might deal with exotic foods in that part of the world.  It could be enlightening.  That would be half the fun to try local delicacies such as bugs and stuff like that as long as it looks cooked.  Your friend over there will be a good guide on that score.  And what’s the tourist dress code?  My guess is jeans and stuff won’t cut it.  Anything that you can rinse-and-wear is probably what will work best and travels well.  Patagonia will have some good nylon stuff that would do just the trick.  Minimal packed goods, one would think.  I just cannot wait to see the photos and hear the stories.  You really ought to try some Tweets or a blog if you can muster that while you’re over there.  Oh, to be a fly on the wall while you’re mashing about in the countryside or milling among the local street vendors.  I’m afraid as close as I’ll ever get to the reality that is India is “Slumdog Millionaire.”  That was a great flick.  Just make sure we know your total itinerary.

It’s cloudy and gray here today, with the threat of showers.  This is my sixth January in these parts, and knock on wood, this is by far the mildest of those six Januarys even though by Midwest standards this part of the Southeast is mild all of the time.  I bought an ice chopper in December just in case we get any of that damned black ice we are so famed for.  I hope to keep the chopper in reserve and unused.  The weather really has been sterling here and for more than just a few weeks, too.  That is probably the kiss of death to say that.  Now watch it really turn nasty.  Blame it on me.

Reid, some tragic news about Chicago with Charlotte ties.  The daughter of my golf buddy here, Tom, was not at home on North Michigan when a fire broke out on the 12^th floor of her building.  The woman directly across the hallway stepped out of her unit to use the elevator, and when the elevator doors open, a blast of 1,500F heat and flame immolated her.  She was the only death from the fire.  That could’ve just as well been Tom’s daughter.  As it was, hook and ladder units had to fight the blaze, and to do so went through her apartment.  All her belongs and possessions were destroyed or damaged too badly to salvage.  As I told Tom, all that other stuff can be replaced, it’s his daughter that cannot.  Tom and his wife are trying to figure out where their daughter will sleep, where she will live, etc.  You ought to look into some cheap renter’s insurance.  It can’t be very much per month, but even with your meager belongings, it would still be a good deal and worth some peace of mind.

I have to slave on my church newsletter the next couple of nights.  12 pages of monthly penance.  Since my actions are still devious, I’ll have to hope the newsletter can atone for my missteps.  Beyond writing you two, it’s about my only creative outlet.  I guess the blog is too.  I’ll send you each a copy once it’s hot off the presses.  At least I’m thinking about atonement although, granted, I’m not very close to it.